Perfect Love Casts Out FOMO

Perfect Love Casts Out FOMO

Last week Jesus consoled us and commanded that we have no fear. Not even a fear of death. He wasn’t talking about an emotion. We have very little immediate control over our emotional response to things, especially things we don’t often encounter like our lives being threatened. The word He used still exists in English—phobia. When we say someone has a phobia we almost always mean that their internal fear or anxiety translates into action which is disproportionate to the thing they fear.

Being creeped out by seeing a spider in your bathroom isn’t arachnophobia, but burning down your house and moving to another continent is. Sometimes when I talk to people I have this internal conversation critic who seems to think every word out of my mouth is The Dumbest Thing Ever Said, but I wouldn’t dare minimize the suffering of someone with actual social anxiety by calling mine a phobia. It’s just an annoying worry with little power over me—anyone who knows me knows I keep on talking anyway. No, the fear Jesus forbids is of the sort that dictates our behavior—a fear that can make us choose to do and be less when Christ invites us to greatness.

For us, discipleship doesn’t carry fear of death (for now). Instead we suffer from a spiritual FOMO. FOMO means fear of missing out. It’s a word coined in 2004 that immediately became overused and annoying. But it is a real phenomenon. Some people think social media is to blame. We see posts of our friends and family at the Best Party Ever or the Best Concert Ever and we get a sense of anxiety over our loss for doing something less important like going to work or taking care of family. It makes people fail to see the good things right in front them while they worry about the other things they could be doing. For some people, it results in a failure to commit to doing anything at all because what if it’s the wrong thing? For most, it means a nagging feeling that there’s always something better than the present moment.

FOMO is nothing new though and it’s much older than Facebook or Instagram. Spiritual fear of missing out goes all the way back to the Fall. The serpent convinced Eve that God was holding out on her and Adam.  God had promised paradise, but what if he was holding out? They feared, they disobeyed, and the rest is history. Come to think of it, maybe FOMO isn’t that much older than social media. I can’t help but notice the logo on my phone: an apple with a bite out of it.

When we fear that life in Christ isn’t the greatest good, that it will make us miss out on something better (what could be better?) we become less. Saint Irenaeus said, “The Glory of God is man fully alive.” We fall short of the Glory of God if we give power to fear of missing out on comfort, or a chance to shore up our ego, or to achieve acceptance and worldly success, or any number of lesser things. We fail to be fully alive.

This is the point of the first part of Sunday’s Gospel.  It sounds harsh, I know. On the one hand, I think Jesus is saying to love him more than even our own family to drive home the point that He is the greatest good. If we’re supposed to love Jesus more than we love our own mom then you better believe we’re supposed love Him more than we love Sunday sports, political ideology or money.  Loving Jesus more than our parents, more than our children, and more than our own lives doesn’t convey their unimportance, but it demonstrates Jesus’ absolute importance. It’s not a command to not love mother and father, sons and daughters, and ourselves, but an opportunity to love them more by loving Him more. In other words, if, as disciples of Jesus, the upper limit of our capacity to love is measured by how much we love Christ, then seeking to know and love Him more can only mean we will love others more, especially mom and dad, the kids, and ourselves.

There’s no denying the difficulty of taking up our cross daily to follow him, even in a nation where free exercise of religion is supposed to be unrestricted. When we should be more engaged in prayer, or doing spiritual and corporal acts of mercy, or fulfilling our Sunday obligation to attend Mass, it is all too easy to let spiritual FOMO slip in. The Catholic life, the life of a disciple of Jesus Christ, is not easy, it is not popular, and sometimes the temptation to be less than our calling is overwhelming.

Maybe that’s the rationale for the second half of Sunday’s Gospel. We are commanded to show hospitality, especially to fellow disciples, especially the little ones (maybe they’re little because the weight of their cross has crushed them). They, like you, are walking a hard road. They too struggle with fear of missing out—a nagging feeling that might not be a true doubt in God’s goodness but still represents a persistent anxiety that this isn’t the right path. We need to help carry each other’s crosses. That could take the form of a note of encouragement, a warm greeting at Mass or on the street, prayer for our fellow disciples, fellowship and time spent together simply being present to and loving each other–there are countless examples. None of us can carry our cross alone, so I’ll end by taking my own advice:

Please know that I am constantly in awe of the sacrifices you make to be fellow disciples. Your sincere love for Jesus and His people encourages me. Sunday is my favorite day of the week not just because I get to attend Mass and receive the Eucharist, but also because I share it in communion with you. There’s no place I’d rather be than in His presence and I am blessed to be there with a family of which you are part. The Body of Christ truly is beautiful and I have genuine affection for each of you. I hope that your example of faith inspires people Monday to Saturday as much as it inspires me on Sunday.

In Jesus and Mary,

Frank

 

 

Divine Mercy and the Sacred Heart

Divine Mercy and the Sacred Heart

This Friday (June 23) is the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart. The following was initially written for Divine Mercy Sunday but is completely appropriate for the Sacred Heart. The Sacred Heart is a devotion that recalls Jesus’ immense love for each person. He became man and entered into every aspect of our reality except sin. He suffered disappointment and loss, betrayal and abandonment, and endured emotional, mental, spiritual and physical anguish to break through the walls of self-exile we had put up to separate us from His love.

Because of the Incarnation the Sacred Heart is a human heart. God’s love crosses a bridge to really, truly be with us. Crossing that divide is what makes Divine Love Divine Mercy. Saint Thomas Aquinas said mercy is, “the compassion in our hearts for another person’s misery, a compassion which drives us to do what we can to help him.” (Summa Theologiae, II-II. 30.1) Compassion means “to suffer with.” Divine Mercy saw our misery and was driven to climb down into the deepest darkness of a fallen world to suffer with us and draw us to His Sacred Heart.

 

Divine Mercy

 

“God’s mercy is like water, it always flows to the lowest place.”

                                                                                                –Father Michael Gaitley

 

I know this is true, because I have experienced it firsthand.

 

In the fall of 2012 I enrolled in a monthly theology certificate class offered by The Theological Institute for the New Evangelization. It was more like a monthly retreat than a class. I do not mean to downplay the scholastic rigor of the course. Indeed, I was taught a great deal about my Catholic faith and, more important, I discovered how little I knew. But the context of the learning was deeply spiritual and directed all learning not just to the head, but to the heart as well. Those eight Saturdays were like an oasis in a desert.

At that point in my life I had been in a spiritual and emotional desert. My wife and I lost our first-born son Ronan in 2006 and as much as I’d like to claim that I handled the loss with strength and dignity, I must be honest and admit that my coping was anything but strong or dignified. I was in a pit, in the desert, and in my blindness and deafness I remained mostly unaware of my own pitiful plight. I apologize, but I’m opting to spare you the details regarding the nature of the hole (holes) I had dug. As much as I’d like to write a Saint Augustine style Confession, I’m afraid I lack the courage. Besides that, I think we all know to some degree what it looks like to deal with pain in all the wrong ways.

It was in this context that I sat one Saturday morning listening to Dr. David Franks open the class with a meditation on a scriptural passage. I don’t recall which, though I think it might have been from Hebrews. During the reflection, he made the point that we were getting better all the time—that if we honestly reflected on where we are now compared to the past we would see that we were improving every day. He said it so earnestly and with so much love. And it made me furious to hear these words. Not furious at him, no. Dr. Franks was and is one of the many instruments God used to call me to life again. And I wasn’t furious at Jesus either, because I desperately wanted what Dr. Franks said to be true and even in darkness I knew Jesus was the only way it could be. I wasn’t even upset at myself because, let’s face it, if there is one person I am always good at understanding, bearing patiently, and forgiving, it’s me. All I know is that I was sitting there, trying to contemplate words that should have been a consolation, yet I was festering with rage. How could I be getting better? Doesn’t he know how wretched I am? I couldn’t understand my reaction and it took quite some time to understand why.

The “why” was fear.

Because mercy is like water.

Let me explain. God’s mercy, like water, seeks out the lowest place. His Love for every human person draws Him to those most in need of His mercy. Mercy is what Love looks like when it meets our brokenness. It flows to the lowest point, cleanses, soothes, refreshes, and heals. Jesus’ mercy, poured out for all from His pierced side, flows infinitely. It is not a mere trickle moistening the wall of the pit but an immense ocean. When we first encounter His mercy it consoles. But as the waters rise, He desires that we be swept up in them. His mercy is not there to make the pit comfortable, but to draw us out of it to new life, abundant life—to freedom.

But that first moment when the deluge of Divine Mercy causes our feet to lose contact with the bottom is frightening. I fought it with anger (among other things) because I did not know where the tide would take me and I didn’t care to find out. God’s timing, however, is perfect. Around the time of hearing Dr. Franks’ words, I also came to understand true devotion to the Blessed Mother. Nothing quiets fear and anger quite like the love of a mother. By the intercession and guidance of the Mother of Mercy, I could let go and trust in the mercy of Jesus. It didn’t matter so much what I had done or how wretched I wrongly believed I was (with apologies to “Amazing Grace,” no human being is a wretch). Mercy, not me, was doing the work of making me better day by day—of lifting me out of the pit. Divine Mercy does that for each of us.

The world needs mercy now more than ever. I pray that you will be like Dr. David Franks, and bring mercy to those who need it. And I pray that you will have no fear of letting the infinite ocean of Jesus’ mercy take you wherever it might.

Jesus, I trust in you.

Standing on this mountaintop
Looking just how far we’ve come
Knowing that for every step
You were with us
Kneeling on this battle ground
Seeing just how much You’ve done
Knowing every victory
Was Your power in us
Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Yes, our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful
Kneeling on this battle ground
Seeing just how much You’ve done
Knowing every victory
Was Your power in us
Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Yes, our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful
You are faithful, God, You are faithful
Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Never once did we ever walk alone
Carried by Your constant grace
Held within Your perfect peace
Never once, no, we never walk alone
Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful
Every step we are breathing in Your grace
Evermore we’ll be breathing out Your praise
You are faithful, God, You are faithful